


Lingerie

by thejigsawtimess



Series: It's The Little Things [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corsetry, Lingerie, M/M, Panty Kink, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/thejigsawtimess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's prepared for a lot of things when Cas comes home after storming out during an argument, but this is certainly not one of them. Who knew fallen angels could have fetishes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lingerie

**Author's Note:**

> Basically shameless Destiel lingerie smut. 
> 
> Dedicated to my beautiful, and totally perfect wife Anna (lesbianna.tumblr.com)  
> Love you lots bb, enjoy xxx

“Fuck you Castiel.”

Dean spits the words out harshly as he paces his cosy bedroom at the back of the bunker, his hands wringing together, occasionally moving up to card through his hair. He hates feeling like this, hates that Castiel can get him so agitated; he can barely think straight for Christ’s sake and that’s _insane._ Cas has only been gone a few hours, and sure, he’s a newly fallen angel and everything, and the bunker is in the middle of damn well nowhere. And sure it’s raining and dark, but Castiel could defend himself against a mugger, right? Or anything worse… supernaturally worse… without his grace…

“Fuck.” Dean hisses again, chewing his lip with a renewed fervour and glancing at his watch for the zillionth time. It’s 1:23am, Castiel has been officially AWOL for four hours now, storming out of their little hideaway after he and Dean had argued. It’s barely even his fault really, Dean thinks crossly, he’d been watching TV when Cas had stormed in, switching the set off by the remote and asking in a petulant, sarcastic tone whether he’d like it if the former angel fetched him his thirtieth beer of the evening.

They always fight over Dean’s drinking, barely anything else, but it’s a frequent argument obviously, because Dean likes his beer. He relies on it in fact, needs it to drown out the misery and self-loathing that creeps up on him every time he’s left alone.

So yeah, maybe he’d gotten irritable about the fact he’d had this discussion with Cas at least a hundred times before, and maybe he’d said something along the lines of ‘just back the hell off, what are you my wife? Leave me alone!’, but Cas didn’t need to take it so _seriously._ He didn’t need to get that hurt, defiant little look on his face and storm out of the room, grabbing his trenchcoat and shoes on the way because he apparently couldn’t stand to be around Dean for much longer.

And now Dean waits for him, the beer long ago tipped down the sink because he obviously felt _horrible_ after that, and now the painfully real sensations of worry and fear are consuming him, providing him with the worst thoughts about where Cas could be right now. This has got to be punishment enough, surely.

1:30am.

Dean hears the front door crash open from all the way in his bedroom, followed by a series of heavy footfalls and a clatter, as though someone knocked something over. He’s too stunned, too angry and too fearful of what will come through that door to move, so he waits for Castiel, relief flooding his body when his bedroom door is finally flung wide and a dishevelled looking ex-angel stands there, slumping against the frame.

He looks an absolute wreck, and Dean immediately goes to support him, surprised at how well Castiel is holding himself together given that he is positively frozen and drenched in what smells like rain and whiskey. His trenchcoat is buttoned up completely, all the way to his collar, but wrongly so that the coat hangs askew on his slight frame, and it’s so large on him that it resembles a circus tent.

“Cas, you idiot.” Dean mumbles as he lifts Cas’s arm up and slides it round his shoulders, supporting his weight. Castiel complains admirably, struggling and trying to stand on his own, but Dean is having none of it, and he half drags Castiel over to his bed, throwing him down onto it so that he’s on his back, smiling slightly at nothing as he stares at the ceiling.

“You’re friggin soaked man. Where the hell have you been?”

Castiel doesn’t reply at first, but lowers his eyes to Dean at the foot of the bed, standing before his knees.

“Out with the girls!” Castiel sings suddenly, laughing uproariously at a joke only he understands, and knitting his eyebrows in confusion when he hiccups, because he’s probably never experienced it before.

“Cas… I was worried sick man.” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair again, gritting his teeth against his anger because right now it’s practically useless to yell at Cas, he won’t comprehend or remember it. “What, you went out and got drunk? On your own? Cause you were mad at me?”

Cas is new to the whole humanity thing, and so Dean tries to get him to talk through his thought processes frequently, in the hopes he might gain a better understanding of Castiel’s actions. Cas just grins at Dean’s words though, shaking his head to and fro against the duvet.

“Nooo. I was with the girls! They showed me… _a whole new woooorld!_ ”

Dean has no idea where Castiel even saw Aladdin (though he definitely suspects Sam) but he must have at some point because he’s singing the song now, and it’s way too much to cope with at half one in the morning.

“Right. Well I’m sure ‘the girls’ are totally pumped about having a new drinking buddy.” Dean says, swiping a tired hand over his face and deliberating what to do now. He should really take off Castiel’s trenchcoat but he doesn’t think the former angel would be too cooperative, so he decides on a different course of action. “I’m gonna go make us some coffee. Decaf for me, and like… at least two shots for you.”

The process of the coffee making actually soothes him, and in the kitchen of the bunker he’s too far away to hear Cas’s off-key Disney tunes, though the same probably can’t be said for Sam, who sleeps just down the hall.

Sam had scampered into his own room at the first signs of an argument brewing, grabbing his laptop, charger and all as Cas and Dean ripped each other to shreds with venom filled accusations and spiteful looks. Dean had watched him leave the living area jealously, wishing he could escape from the argument too, because he _knows_ that technically he’s at fault, that the drinking must be annoying for everyone else around him, but he’s saved the world countless times! He’s watched his friends and family die, he’s been to hell! Surely he deserves a small bout of alcoholism. Not that it’s anywhere near that bad. Dean can stop anytime he wants. He _can._

He’s got two mugs ready in practically no time, and sighs wearily as he grasps them, casting a fleeting look around the kitchen once more before turning back to face the enemy.

He kicks the door of his bedroom open with his foot, briefly glancing at Castiel, only to note that he is in the exact same position he’d been left in, though now his pants and shoes are off, and Dean damn near trips over them on his way to place Cas’s mug on the bedside table.

Castiel has stopped singing by now, and he instead watches Dean with curious eyes, still flat on his back, his arms splayed about him. He looks kind of hot actually, all damp and dishevelled with his hair all mussed from wind and rain. But Dean’s got morals about this sort of thing, so he squashes the feelings down, telling himself there’s plenty of time for all that when Castiel isn’t hopelessly drunk, and probably furious with him still to boot.

Dean walks around to his side of the bed then, coffee in hand, sitting down on his glorious memory foam (best hundred bucks he ever spent) with a thwump, and takes a long gulp. Castiel is watching him, eyes glazed and wanting something Dean is surely not able to give, because Cas is so drunk right now, he could literally be thinking anything at all.

Cas licks his lips at the sight of the coffee disappearing past Dean’s lips, his nose twitching as he inhales the rich dark aroma of the beans, and he’s instantly upright, swivelling and contorting himself on the bed until he can grab his own mug.

It’s then, as Castiel leans forwards, stretching himself across the mattress, one leg extended behind him, that Dean notices it. Castiel has taken his pants off, yes, and while Dean’s kind of used to that by now, given that they share a bed every night, what he’s seeing now is definitely a whole new world, even for him. Despite his pants being off, Castiel’s legs are not bare, though it’s difficult to see in the low lighting, and Dean’s looking through seriously tired eyes.

The sparse black hairs covering Castiel’s legs are squashed, flattened by the thin, transparent material wrapped around his shins and thighs; at first Dean thinks they’re pantyhose, but as Cas drains the last of his coffee and leans back up to place the mug down, his trenchcoat rises up high enough that Dean catches a glimpse of dark blue garter, like a vice around his thigh, frilly and studded with a single rhinestone. There are even straps, two thin black lines at the front and back of Cas’s upper leg, attaching the garter to whatever underwear still lurks beneath that coat. Stockings. Castiel is wearing stockings.

The mug nearly slips from Dean’s hands; he’s so surprised he doesn’t know how to react. He considers the possibility that he’s dreaming, but even his dreams have never been this kinky, and he starts to wonder why on earth he’s feeling so flustered, because he’s never known himself to consciously want this, but apparently here it is. It’s definitely not disgusting him just yet.

“Cas…?”

Castiel flips himself over until he’s laid out beside Dean, the merest hint of stocking visible from where his shins and feet poke out of the end of his coat. Dean misses the sight of the garter already. “Yes Dean?”

He sounds remarkably coherent for someone who seemed blind drunk not two minutes before, and Dean has to stifle a splutter, because is Castiel _playing_ him here? Pretending to be drunker than he is so that he can get away with more? Any other time Dean might be annoyed, but he’s too distracted, his eyes are apparently glued to Cas’s legs because he can’t look away. The sheer nylon hugs the shape of Cas’s calves like they’re painted on, nearly transparent but giving a glossy sheen.

Dean’s mouth starts to water. What’s happening to him?

“Is someth-” Castiel hiccups, interrupting himself, and it makes his chest arch off the bed slightly, so he giggles. “-Is something the matter, Dean?”

Dean’s mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and he definitely has no response – _is_ something the matter? Who knows! He's apparently lost the ability of speech, and his kind-of boyfriend is wearing women’s stockings, and it seems to be the about the hottest thing he’s ever seen, but other than that…?

He drags his gaze up the length of Castiel’s body, forcing himself to meet endless blue eyes. He’s smirking damn him, and where the hell did he go tonight that he comes back wearing _stockings_?!

_Out with the girls,_ Dean’s mind echoes, and he gulps, because that suddenly has a whole new meaning. Cas seems to notice the realisation dawning on Dean’s face, and he smiles wider, eyes glinting mischievously. Dean puts the coffee mug down without looking behind him, so fast that he marvels a little at his own reflexes.

“The girls showed me such a lot tonight, Dean.” Castiel is saying, and Dean struggles to focus on the words as Cas’s hands move off the bed, trailing down from his coat collar to the beige buttons. “They took me to this place…”

Castiel is still laid flat on his back, on top of the covers with Dean next to him. He’s obviously made it so that Dean has a full view of this, because he’s a tricky little bastard and he knows what he’s doing. Dean has no choice but to watch, utterly dumbfounded, his gaze flicking between Cas’s eyes, his fingers slipping the first button through its hole, and those slender legs, wrapped tightly in thin, smooth material, the merest glimpse of cerulean frill peeking out from under the beige hem.

“…it was filled with such- _ah-”_ That noise he makes, his eyes fluttering, should be _illegal_ for the things it does to Dean. He doesn’t even know what prompted the noise from Cas, other than the fact he’s now got two buttons open, but it hardly matters. Dean’s surprised at how hard he is already, and this is so fucked up, he's never even thought about doing anything like this, but he is not stopping it. “Such _beautiful_ people. I didn’t know… what gender they were most of the time…” He laughs suddenly, face crinkling at the memory – where the fuck did he go? Seriously! “But they were dressed so… _mesmerizingly._ It was breathtaking.”

Cas is on his fourth button now, and he’s taking his time about it, but Dean’s heart is hammering wildly, because he’s about to get a full view of those stockings, garters, straps and all, and something tells him that’s not the only thing he’s going to get once Cas has finished his strip tease. He licks his lips anxiously, fully aware he must be flushed pink, eyes glazed.

“They took me into a back room…” Dean surprises himself then with the animalistic _growl_ that rips through him, because he’s suddenly flooded with white hot jealousy, a possessive feeling that he only ever gets around Cas – a back room?! What the fuck! His hands are on Cas’s lapels in an instant, leaning over him and bringing their faces close. He’s careful not to open the coat however, he still wants to keep that a surprise for now.

“You let some random chicks-that-might-not-be-chicks in frilly underwear at a club take you into a _back room?!_ ” He hisses, knowing full well Cas can feel his angry breaths over his face, but the ex-angel only smirks. He shakes him a little. “What happened, Cas?!”

“Relax baby,” Castiel murmurs, and Dean tenses a little as he feels Cas’s hands coming up to rub gently over his upper arms. He must be really drunk because Cas is usually pretty adverse to endearments of any kind, not that Dean’s complaining. He’s still stupidly turned on. “I would never. You’re the only one for me, you know that.” He grins up at Dean, running his tongue over his lower lip because he’s an asshole and he knows it drives Dean crazy. “They took me in there, and they persuaded me to try it.”

Dean’s mind blanks for a second, the jealousy he felt over the thought someone might have taken advantage of his angel (wings or no wings) momentarily obliterating the thought of the stockings he’s currently wearing from his mind.

“Try what?”

His hands are still fisted in Cas’s coat lapels, and he can feel Cas’s heart beating underneath his right hand. It’s hammering wildly, and it’s a betrayal of his own arousal; he’s probably just as turned on as Dean is right now. It doesn’t make him any less in control of the situation though. Dean’s mind is too busy reeling at the thought of the man/angel underneath him wearing _garters_ to regain the upper hand.

“Why don’t I just show you?”

If Cas’s expression was predatory before, now it’s downright lethal, and he stares at Dean, unblinking through hooded eyes, daring him to let Cas get on with the show he’d interrupted moments before.

Dean actually feels a little dizzy with how fast all of the blood in his body seems to rush towards his groin, and he can’t help groaning a little as he reluctantly rolls off Cas’s body, relenting. He’s not sure he’s prepared for what’s about to happen, and he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as Cas watches, before sitting up, manoeuvring himself into a kneeling position by one of Cas’s stockinged shins, and waiting.

All of Cas’s coat buttons are undone by now, and the sides of his coat are just resting atop each other, ready to be ripped open at any moment. Dean’s fingers itch to do it himself, but he’s too nervous, he doesn’t know what he’s going to find, what Cas has got underneath there, whether he’ll like it as much as he likes the stockings.

They lock eyes, and Castiel smiles, soaking up every second. He’s drunk, but definitely not as drunk as he appeared, Dean thinks as Castiel moves to hook his fingers underneath either side of his coat. He does it slowly, and Dean is glad, because this is like being on some kind of hallucinatory trip; he can barely think straight, his blood is pounding in his head, the prickle of want, of _need_ thrums mercilessly throughout his entire being; he’s honestly never felt anything like this. It’s more than exhilarating, it’s intoxicating.

Castiel lifts the coat apart, opening the sides and laying them out wide, exposing himself fully as he lays spread-eagled on the bed, head tipped back, letting out a satisfied _ahhh,_ as if it’s relieving to be free of the confines.

Dean stares.

He stares for a long time, wondering vaguely if it’s possible to die from lack of blood to the brain, because he’s sure that there’s none left up there now. He’s so hard it’s starting to ache almost, and he can’t stop _looking,_ can’t stop running his gaze over Castiel’s entire body, because it’s _sinful_ surely, to be dressed this way, and it’s so good he can almost taste it.

Cas didn’t stop with the stockings, oh no. He apparently didn’t even get his fill with the garters either, though they are something else, hotter than the thigh holsters he once saw wrapped around those same thighs in a make believe 2014 and that’s saying something. They dig into his flesh a little way, just high enough up his legs that there’s a flash of skin between them and the- sweet mother of Christ –dark turquoise silken panties.

Castiel is already half hard, probably just from the _feel_ of the damn skimpy things against his bare skin, Dean can only imagine what that’s like; his night with Rhonda Hurley was a long time ago, but he remembers enough to know that it feels pretty damn amazing. He lets out a little moan, clenching his fists as he takes in the sight of Castiel’s huge bulge, straining the silk to obscene lengths, a little wet spot just off centre where he must be _leaking._ Dean feels beads of sweat running down the back of his neck; this is too much, Christ.

Black lace hooks the panties over the jut of Castiel’s sharp hips, the two materials entwined together to make some of the hottest lingerie Dean has ever laid eyes on, and that’s before he even got to the corset. Yes, that’s right, corset.

It’s not a full one, and that’s kind of understandable seeing as Castiel doesn’t exactly have _boobs,_ but that doesn’t mean he can’t half pull it off. It’s deep blue, as blue as his eyes – Dean’s ninety percent sure that’s not unintentional – and cuts off just below the bust, skin tight, threaded so taut that it hugs Castiel’s skinny frame beautifully, showing off his tapered waist, the silken material rising and falling with every inhale.

He looks inhumanly good, Dean’s practically brimming with anticipation by now, he’s never been so turned on in his life, he’s sure – how is this happening? Castiel used to be an _angel_! This type of thing, this iniquitous, mind-blowingly kinky act is effectively a blaspheme, surely to God. It’s not like he could possibly stop himself now though, not with Cas just lying there, lowering his eyes to Dean’s, positively smouldering, offering himself up like a delicious feast of sin.

Isn’t Cas supposed to be angry with him? Dean’s mind flings wildly from one point to another, anything to distract himself from the perfection in front of him, he can’t just… surely he’s not allowed to just… there must be a rational explanation for this! He glances up at Castiel’s face again, his eyes desperate because he’s about to break, how could he not?

Cas sees it, he sees Dean’s tremble, hears the whimper he lets out involuntarily, and moves to shrug himself completely out of his sodden coat, throwing the useless garment across the room and laying back, inviting Dean with his eyes. Dean holds on, unable to stop himself from staring pointedly at Castiel’s growing erection beneath the tented silken fabric, and Cas just sighs, moving a hand to trail down the ribbed blue corset covering his waist. His fingers press hard as he runs them across the material, and he closes his eyes, letting out a groan of pleasure.

Dean snaps.

Castiel’s eyes fly open just in time to see the ferocious growl erupting from Dean’s lips, and he grins triumphantly as Dean pounces, leaping forwards to press the length of his body across Castiel’s, kissing him furiously, wasting no time about pushing his tongue inside. He’s waited far too long for this already, dithering about like an idiot, so he winds one hand in Cas’s hair, and slides the other down his waist, raking his nails over the thinly boned corset, his fingertips catching on the frills at the hem, and then he’s gripping those silk panties, the feel of them like butter against the pads of his skin. He slides his fingers down, between Cas and the bed, never losing contact with the underwear, and then he can grip Cas’s ass through them, squeezing hard because he damn well asked for this, so he massages and kneads the tender flesh through the silk as Cas moans into his mouth, trying to grip him tighter, pull him closer, kiss him deeper. It’s so hot, Dean’s already burning up.

It’s not enough though, Dean needs more, needs it now because he’s been hard since he saw the first glimpse of Cas’s stockings and that seems years ago, so he slides his hand down from Cas’s behind, clutching at his bared thigh instead, grunting his approval when he finds the garter strap connecting the stockings to the panties and snaps it against his skin, grinning wolfishly. Cas yelps, narrowing his eyes, but it doesn’t last long, and then they’re back to kissing, Dean pulling Cas’s thigh up hard, wrapping it around his waist and hoping he gets the idea.

Cas does, moaning as he realises what’s happening, and Dean moves his other hand from Cas’s hair because he needs to get his jeans open like _yesterday_ , and Cas helps – well as much as he can considering he doesn’t let Dean move back very far, keeping both stockinged legs wrapped securely around him.

It takes a few moments fumbling with Dean’s button and zipper and then he’s free, pushing his jeans as far down as he can reach, not caring that he can’t get them all the way off right now because there isn’t _time_ dammit. Cas growls at him as soon as it’s done, pulling him back down sharply by the back of the neck and biting at his lip.

“ _Why_ is your shirt still on?!” He asks moodily, as if it’s truly unfathomable to him. Luckily Dean knows a good way to shut him up right about now, and so he lines up his crotch with those damn blue panties that he’s going to be dreaming of for _months,_ and grinds down, hard.

Cas makes a strangled sort of sound, throwing his head back against the covers because that felt damn good, Dean knows, he was there. It sends a shockwave of something incredible cascading through him, leaving him momentarily unable to move, but he quickly recovers, and so he does it again.

“Oh… Dean, oh _fuck,_ Dean…”

Tonight is apparently a night of new experiences, because okay- Cas _swearing?_ Dean might be a bit concerned by this out of character behaviour about now if Cas’s anti-possession tattoo wasn’t in full view on his hip, partially obscured by that black lace, along with the fact that he’s still wearing his silver ring. The one Dean gave to him around three months ago, back when he’d first fallen and had confided that he couldn’t find a reason for living anymore.

He grinds against him once more, hands sliding underneath Cas’s waist to arch him from the bed, and Castiel just cries out unintelligibly, hands grabbing at Dean’s shoulders and back. It’s still not enough, he needs to feel all this silken material against his skin. He needs it right now.

He lifts off Cas, prising his legs apart from where they’re still wrapped firmly around his middle and Cas nearly sobs, reaching out for him with grabby, impatient hands, needing him as close as possible, and hey, it’s not like Dean doesn’t understand that feeling.

He strips his shirt off quickly, pulling his jeans the rest of the way down his legs shortly after, and he moves to the end of the bed to throw them in the vicinity of the door, which is still ajar he notices. Oops, he thinks, a tad guiltily, let’s pray Sam isn’t too pissed in the morning. He has no time to worry about that now though, and he turns quickly, finding Cas writhing on the bed, still on his back but apparently a lot more restless.

He’s suddenly struck with the a wicked idea, so dirty he surprises himself, but all he can think about is that he wants to remember this moment, wants to remember seeing Cas just like this, wanton and desperate, dressed in the kinkiest outfit Dean has seen maybe ever. Deciding to just let the spontaneity overtake him, he reaches back and grabs the jeans he just threw away, shoving a hand deep into the pocket and pulling out his phone.

Since they’ve had a more permanent residence, he and Sam decided there was no real point in changing from crappy phone to crappy phone each week anymore, especially since there must have been some really smart man of letters who set up a protective sphere around the bunker, shielding them from being tracked via their cells. So they upgraded, got shiny new camera phones, one for Cas too though he hates the damn thing, barely uses it at all.

Dean scrolls through his apps quickly, cursing himself for slipping his fingers over the screen; he needs to hurry up, Cas is moaning, pleading with him and it’s extremely distracting. He glances up at the former angel, his hands running over his entire body, like he can’t get enough of the _feel_ of those materials, and Dean definitely understands.

“Okay baby, smile.” Dean chuckles, the camera opening at last, and watching intently as the image of Cas in his current debauched state fills the screen.

It’s ridiculously hot, Dean can already tell as he snaps the shutter closed that he’ll find it in a couple of days and end up spewing coffee everywhere. He might have it as his phone background actually, it would be extremely amusing to gauge Sam’s reaction when he inevitably steals Dean’s phone at some point, and sees this.

Dean chuckles again, marvelling at the photo he just took, and then glancing up at the real thing, staring at him impatiently. “That is all kinds of hot, Cas.”

He chucks the phone behind him, not caring where it lands, and grabs the nearest foot to him. Holding it steady, he carefully brings it to his lips so he can press a kiss against the shiny nylon. It’s smooth and almost slippery as he kisses his way up Cas’s left leg, keeping to the inner seam because it’s got to be more sensitive, and dragging his lips for maximum effect. Cas curses and shouts at him, telling him to hurry up because he’s been waiting all night, and he went to all this effort and the _least_ he can do is-

He shuts up pretty quickly once Dean’s lips come into contact with his inner thigh, and he takes his time about tonguing and biting the flesh there, rubbing his nose in the frilly garters that grace the top of his stockings, and running a tongue over the strip of bared skin that’s uncovered. When he reaches those panties, he stares for a moment, mouth watering because this has got to be his favourite part of the whole outfit.

Cas’s dick is straining the silk to obscene amounts now; Dean’s mildly concerned the thin fabric might burst, and it can barely hold him anyway. They’re really wet by this point, soaked in places and it’s delicious, it means Cas must be really desperate, so Dean doesn’t mess around. He dips his lips to the material, his mouth landing in the spot right between Cas’s balls and the underside of his erection, and he sucks, the silk relinquishing its sweet tangy flavour, Cas’s flavour, and he savours it on his tongue.

Cas moans and tries to move his hips, attempting to angle himself for Dean’s mouth but Dean’s having none of it, and his hands fly up to pin Cas’s hips down. He laughs against the feel of Cas’s hardness through the fabric when he hears him let out a frustrated moan.

He continues sucking, his lips brushing over the spot Cas’s skin must lie beneath every few seconds, and then without warning, he moves his mouth up, swiping his tongue along the covered shaft, which he can feel is pressed flat upwards, angled towards Cas’s cinched in waist. Cas’s hands come out to grip Dean’s hair, and he’s whimpering as Dean mouths at him through the panties, his saliva getting them even wetter until the outline of Cas’s dick is clearly visible against the darker patch, the ex-angel near hysterical by now.

“This is so damn hot, Cas.” Dean growls, not really aware of the words tumbling out of his mouth. “You look so hot. I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight baby, just you wait.”

Cas mewls and writhes about, seemingly frustrated because his hips are held in place, but he takes it, pulling at the roots of Dean’s hair as Dean continues to suck and run his lips over the silk covered erectile tissue.

“Yes,” he gasps, pulling Dean’s head back by his hair so that their eyes meet over Cas’s lewdly dressed body, “please do it, hurry.”

Dean has just about enough coherency left to flash him a quick grin and then he moves off, crawling up Cas’s body a little way so he can press moistened lips to his lace-covered hips, and then up, over his corset to his neck, a thousand faded marks still reddened on the skin if you look close enough. No time for hickeys now, he moves up further and kisses Cas, slow and deep, pushing their crotches together again because he can’t help it, but just the once, because it’s a lot to handle and he feels like he could come just from this, any moment.

“Turn over,” he rumbles, letting the gravel seep into his voice because he knows how to be sexy goddammit, and it damn well works, if Cas’s eyes rolling back into his head as he eagerly scrambles to obey Dean’s request is any indication.

Dean’s breath hitches at the sight before him yet again, and he curses himself for not being mentally prepared, because of course there’s more to this damn outfit around the other side. Cas’s corset is fastened tightly with wide black ribbon, a startling contrast against the blue of the rest of the lingerie, but it highlights Cas’s thick hair, and the lace clinging to his hips, not to mention those taut garter straps. He sucks in a breath as he runs a finger down the cross-hatching threads, Cas’s back arching into his touch.

Fuck, he looks beautiful.

He can’t waste time with the corset though, not when they’re both so desperate to just lose themselves in the feel of each other. Cas turns his head back to look at Dean over his shoulder, impatient and pleading; he looks like he’s about to burst from the anticipation.

“Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry I’m doin’ it.” Dean responds, trying to sound disgruntled, but instead achieving more of a strangled amazement. He moves away from Cas briefly, rummaging in the drawer next to him, the coffee mug from before wobbling a little as he does so, until he finds the tiny bottle he’s looking for.

It hasn’t even been that long since they did this, hell when was it- this morning? Dean's mind conjures up the image of pinning Cas down by his wrists, thrusting inside him so hard that Sam complained about the noise when they got up, and all Dean had thought was that his brother is damn lucky he had the courtesy to slap a hand over Cas's mouth when he came. It had been the early hours of the morning when they'd done that, sure, but still, Cas might still be a little looser than usual. He coats his fingers generously nonetheless, the silky lube feeling almost as good as the slippery material covering Cas’s butt right now.

Impatient though, he pushes the panties aside, his lube-covered fingers marking the fabric with little wet splotches, and he makes a noise of frustration when Cas’s moans of pleasure, along with the material’s unwillingness to cooperate, indicate that the bulge of his erection mean the panties are already stretched to their fullest elasticity.

He yanks them down instead, exposing Cas’s pert, round ass and smirking because it’s so deliciously naughty, seeing him like this, his posterior exposed beneath that stripper corset, the stockings and panties just beneath. Almost merciless, he slides two fingers between Cas’s cheeks, feeling the heat emanating from him already, and Cas is just whimpering non-stop, the curses and blasphemes coming thick and fast as Dean circles his hole with one finger, and pushes inside.

He pulls Dean inside him easily, just as tight and hot as he is every damn time, and it never fails to make Dean crazy. The lube, along with their recent activities doing just this mean that it’s barely any time at all before Cas is begging Dean for more, telling him to just forget this part and get inside him because he doesn’t think he can wait any longer. It’s lucky Dean is feeling slightly more responsible, though he can’t say that wasn’t a tempting offer, so he just speeds up his efforts, adding a second finger, and working them in and out in deep, slow movements, his other hand tangling itself in the mess of ribbon above. Cas keens and makes every obscene sound he's capable of, and that just makes this a whole lot harder, how is Dean supposed to stay patient when he's like this? With a cry of ecstasy he arches off the bed, pushing down onto Dean’s fingers and angling his hips as Dean stretches him.

Dean’s about ready to burst, and he physically has to look away for fear the heat of this might actually make him come without being touched. He adds a third finger, and Cas yelps, reaching a hand behind him to try and grasp Dean’s, his face squashed into the pillow to muffle his cries because that was obviously a good angle, so Dean does it again.

He crooks his fingers just slightly, and Cas’s whole body trembles as he cries out; he tries to push backwards, further onto Dean’s fingers, but his movements are stuttery now, and Dean is merciless, not letting up now that he’s found Castiel’s prostate. He rubs his fingers over the spot, sliding them in and out as he does so, and Cas clutches at his hand, his arm twisted around his back so he can grab at Dean. Dean’s unoccupied hand clasps Cas’s, and he finds it being dragged around to Castiel’s front, sliding between the boned silk of the corset and the soft material of the duvet, all the way down Castiel’s front until Cas is placing Dean's palm over the front of those panties, still covering his crotch, but absolutely soaking now, so much that Dean barks a slightly hysterical laugh.

His fingers are still inside Castiel, and he’s leaning over him more now, one hand trapped between Castiel’s crotch and the bed, so he squeezes that hand, rubbing Cas’s length as he pulls his fingers out, deciding he’s got to be ready now, he’s waited long enough after all.

He presses a wet kiss between Cas’s shoulderblades and strokes twice more over the front of Cas’s underwear, eliciting fractured little moans from him. Then he removes his hand, sliding it out from underneath him so he can pull off his own briefs at last.

Feeling his cock released from its cotton confines is akin to the best feeling in the world right now – not counting the feeling of the various silks Castiel is covered in from head to toe – and he grabs the lube from where he dropped it before, lathering himself up again and coating his cock. He has to be fast and efficient, not only because Cas has turned into a nonsensical wreck, urging Dean to hurry up because he feels like he’s dying – drama queen – but also because Dean has never wanted anything so badly in his life, even if he’s not entirely sure why.

“Okay, you’re comin’ up here.” Dean grunts when he’s fully coated, flipping Castiel over with one hand slid beneath his waist. Cas goes easily, surrendering to whatever Dean wants from him now because he’s lost the ability to function properly, though he still looks fucking incredible. “I’m gonna pull these down a little way…”

Dean tugs the panties down over Cas’s cock, letting it bob free at last, but he doesn’t remove them completely – hey, he still wants to feel them, lace and all. He manoeuvres Cas like a rag doll, using the arm around his corseted waist to pull him upright and onto his lap, sighing when the silk stretched between his thighs brushes his straining erection. Yeah, he’s definitely not going to last long.

“Dean, let me…” Cas breathes, apparently having regained some coherency, and he braces himself on Dean’s shoulders as he lifts his hips up, sinking down onto Dean’s cock without a word of warning, and it’s all Dean can do to grasp at him, his fingers clutching at the black ribbon, pulling it free of its knots, but it hardly matters.

“Fuck… oh _fuck._ ” Dean intones, groaning loudly as Cas starts to move, rolling his hips as he ducks his head towards Dean’s, their foreheads touching, both Cas’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Cas moans, pushing himself as far down as he can manage, and the panties caress Dean’s thighs, there’s a glorious rush of hot, damp skin against satiny cloth, and Dean just moans at the sensation, gripping Cas around the waist and pushing his face forwards as they rock together, their lips colliding messily while Cas continues to move.

He feels so gloriously tight, and Dean’s mind is a haze of intense pleasure against the brush of silk and satin everywhere around him, he breathes in and smells the sex clouding the air, thick and heavy, intermingled with the scent of Cas, faint traces of coconut and coffee, so he kisses him harder, tugging his lower lip between teeth.

“Don’t stop... that’s it Cas, I got you.” Dean pants, working his own hips in time with Cas’s rolling movements. “You been hiding your secret kinks from me, huh?”

Cas moans and nods frantically before throwing his head back, starting to move faster, pumping himself up and down, sweat glistening on his collarbone, dripping down his chest and beading at the top of the corset.

“So damn hot, seeing you like this…” Dean barely knows what he’s saying anymore, but he knows Cas loves it when he talks like this, all husky- 'in the throes of passion' as he puts it. “As soon as I saw... I just wanted to come inside you so bad, you’re so sexy," Dean gasps as Cas clenches around him, a reaction to what Dean's saying, and then he's speeding up, hips pumping furiously, "harder, yeah that’s it…”

Cas’s arms are getting stupidly tight around his neck now, he seems to be holding on for dear life as he continues to work himself up and down Dean’s length, but he’s close, Dean can see from his expression, the fractured little movements he keeps making, as if he’s barely keeping it together. Dean can feel his own orgasm building, thrumming throughout his body like a cosmic surge of energy, about to burst out of him, so he pulls Cas in tighter, crushing the scratchy, silky corset against his chest as he pushes him back against the bed, following him down so they’re still connected, Dean on top of him now.

“Dean, please…”

He relieves Cas of the burden of moving by starting to thrust forwards himself, not bothering to go anything but fast now because they’re both so close already. Cas whines and writhes about, his thighs clenching around Dean's waist and rubbing their sheer, smooth nylon against his bared flesh.

“Please, Dean… I need…”

Dean hears him, and knows instantly what he means, so he reaches between them to where Cas’s neglected cock is still leaking desperately, begging to be touched, and starts to jerk him in the same rhythm as he moves, hips snapping forwards as he works his hand. It’s mere moments before he feels Cas tensing beneath him, his back arching upwards as he clings to Dean, his whole body shuddering as he rides through his orgasm with a litany of words Dean honestly never thought he’d say. Come spills out over his fist, splattering his chest and the intense blue of Cas’s corset, but it’s not important now, Dean’s too lost in sensation to worry.

“Dean…” Cas is saying, breathless and broken from his high, but Dean barely listens, continuing his movements and letting his gaze and hands roam over Cas’s entire being, burying his fingers in silk and lace wherever he can until Cas catches his eye. “ _Dean.”_

Dean is dumbstruck, unable to look away from that azure gaze as per usual, and Cas just stares, biting his lip once as his fingers tangle in Dean’s hair, pulling him close. “Come for me.”

Dean cries out, and it’s so ridiculous that Cas just saying that could send him over the edge, freefalling into a dizzying high as burning, blinding pleasure courses through him, but it does. He can feel himself coming, Cas clenching around him as he spills, and he tries to keep up the pace but he can’t, he’s too busy drowning in this sensation, so he shoves his hands underneath Cas’s back, feeling the litany of ribbons and pulling at them as he rides it out, Cas muttering soothing words into his ear.

It seems like a couple of lifetimes later that he resurfaces, just enough energy to pull out and roll off of Cas, the scratch of the corset reminding him of everything that just happened, as if he could forget.

They lie there, side by side, staring at the space above them, breathing heavily. “Fuck I love you, man.”

Dean’s embarrassed almost as soon as he says it, but he’s not taking it back. If anything deserves those three words it’s Cas dressing up in lingerie and practically begging Dean to fuck him senseless. There’s a few awkward moments of silence before Cas summons the energy to roll towards him, hooking one still-stockinged leg over Dean’s. He brushes a hand through Dean’s hair, and he’s obviously smiling smugly, though Dean’s pretending not to notice.

“I love you too, Dean. A lot.”

Dean’s smiling too now despite himself, not trusting his own body enough to not react if he turns to look at Cas again this soon after, and he’s too tired for another round until at least an hour has passed. A thought flies into his brain though and he furrows his brow, turning to look at Cas and sucking in a breath when he sees how close their faces are.

“I-I thought you were… mad at me? Cause of the drinking.” Dean’s fully aware this conversation is about as dangerous as rewiring a live bomb, but he has to know if this was some kind of weird sexual payback or something – maybe Cas thought he’d hate the lingerie and wanted to punish him? Who knows how his mind works?

Cas smiles faintly, but his eyes look a little sad. “I was talking to the girls about it,” Dean shakes his head, reminding himself to find out who the fuck these ‘girls’ are and possibly  punch them, possibly send them all flowers, “about the argument we had. I was drunk, I needed someone to talk to and they were there… they were so nice to me.”

Dean nods, aware that he looks a little confused. “And they told you to dress up in women’s underwear? That’s their solution?”

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean forces himself not to glance down at the rest of Cas’s body in that split second the ex-angel isn't looking. “They said you’d like it, and that maybe…”

He trails off, averting his gaze, as if he’s suddenly thought better of speaking this part aloud. “Maybe what, Cas?” Dean asks gently, trying to catch his eye again.

He sighs, vivid blue eyes swirling back to meet Dean’s again. “Maybe it would be a good incentive, you know, for you to not… drink as much.”

Dean’s too shocked to reply for a good two minutes, and he can tell Cas is worried he’s started another fight, but Dean doesn’t move away, and strangely he doesn’t feel that annoyed. Maybe it’s because he just had what has to be one of the greatest orgasms of his life, and so yeah, perhaps the lingerie is a fairly decent incentive, because now Dean’s thinking he would pretty much give up anything to get Cas to dress like this again.

Including beer.

He grabs Cas’s corset-covered waist and pulls him in, kissing him slowly and deeply as soon as he’s close enough, parting Cas's mouth and twining their tongues together, careful and unhurried, just tasting the man currently in his arms. It earns him a surprised little moan – clearly Cas was expecting the worst here, and who can blame him? Dean's been a dick recently, not helped by the sky high mountain of beer bottles under his feet. Dean’s fingers start unthreading the ribbon running along Cas’s spine, pulling and looping until he’s got the whole length in one hand, and he throws it aside so he can pull off the corset.

Cas goes limp and lets him do it, lets him rearrange the outfit to his liking, allows himself to be manoeuvred onto his back so Dean can run his hands over him. He lifts his hips so Dean can slide the panties back into place, flutters his eyelashes beautifully as Dean unhooks the garters and rolls the stockings down his long legs.

The panties can stay, Dean thinks, because he rather likes those, and he curls up next to Cas again once he's thrown the stockings aside, studying his wary face and giving a small smile.

“You’re more intoxicating like this than any alcohol.” Dean says, looking at him seriously as he trails a hand down his now-bared skin. “For you, I’ll stop.  I will, though it’s gonna be hard.”

Dean leans up and kisses him again, soaking up Cas’s shocked reaction, lips slightly parted in amazement.

“Buuut... I’m gonna be pissy and get horrible withdrawal, so…” Dean begins, his fingers brushing the hem of the silk panties, teasing and light. “…yeah I might need a couple of incentives now and again.”

Dean grins at him as he smiles broadly, a hand extending towards him to grip him by the back of the head and pull him in for a kiss. “You really seem to like the feel of these fabrics…” Cas murmurs against his lips as Dean’s hands stroke over silk. “Perhaps we need to find you a few matching garments of your own.”

Dean’s eyes fly wide open, just in time to see Cas’s eyes crinkle in a rare, wide smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have now decided to set this series post season 8 finale if you get me (no spoilers), mostly because it just works due to Cas and everything... yeah. Sabriel and Destiel probably.


End file.
